This is most probably not going to be the final chapter, it is a mock up, will change things, just wanted some feedback.
Working Title: The Tom Toil mysteries.
Chapter 1: Hard liquor and Harsh spirits
Working Title: The Tom Toil mysteries.
Chapter 1: Hard liquor and Harsh spirits
London, a town reeking with the smell of smoke, fresh cut flowers, and horse manure, utterly inconsistent, yet plain as day. On a normal day, I’d be in my own equally terrible smelling city of Atlantic City, investigating cheating spouses, keeping peace with the fey union, and having a nice scotch on the rocks. But life don’t always go according to plan, sometimes you live a full life surrounded by those that love you, other times you get so drunk you cast a flame spell inside yourself burning down an entire apartment.
It’s a well known fact among the magical community that almost all cases of spontaneous combustion are in actuality spells gone awry. And in the case of my old partner Thadeus T Thadsworth, the idiot tried to entertain some regulars with a firebreathing trick drunk, got the hiccups, and then exploded. The London authorities took care of everything of course, fogged the memories of every regular in there…but MAN did he leave too big a mess, and too little of anything in his will.
Callous I know, my former friend dies abruptly and I’m worrying about whether I get a clean cent from his estate, but as its hard to stay liquid as a PI for both regulars and magic types, I take what I can get. I take a quick look around the remains of his apartment, not much there, outside of burnt furniture, and a picture of him and his ex-wife Joan. “She could never keep up with me!” Thad would always say incredulously. I don’t want to say he was a disloyal son of a bitch, but there’s a reason he’s my FORMER partner, one I’d expound on if not for respect for the dead.
A few paces around the place, and I leave, to “Jacobson & SJOEJEOME” the manager of his estate. If that reads like a random mishmash of letters, its because Jacobson’s partner was an extradimensional being(EDB as we call them) whose true name could not be written, so I always just write whatever for types like them. None of them types ever seen too sore about my shorthand for them, too busy being confusing and eldritch I assume.
Hollow pleasantries are given as usual, Jacobson offers a cookie he calls a biscuit for some godless reason, SJOEJEOME offers me a whiskey like a real salt of the Earth type, and we get to business. I half-expected Joan to be in the room with us, but given hers and Thad’s relationship she might not’ve wanted anything from the old gasbag, no offense to the deceased of course. Knowing him I’d be lucky if I got an old tooth brush or a cracked wand, best get it over with.
“To my oldest friend and former partner” Jacobson stated in that gaunt formal way lawyer types do “I give my detective office, and all the contents within”.
The…entire office…the ENTIRE office…that SON OF A-
“HEY-excuse me, uh, I don’t know if you know how much a PI makes these days, but if you expect me to be able to rent a god damn FULL office-”
“YoU aRe MiStAkEn ToIlEd ToM” SJOEJEOME interrupts me with that classic sing songy voice them types have “ThE bUiLdInG iS nOt FoR rEnT, iN aLl PeRpEtUiTy tHe BuIlDiNg Is YoUr *COUGH COUGH* solemn property, ugh, my dearest apologies, getting over a cough.”
After briefly realizing every extradimensional being I’ve talked to has had a cold for some reason I followed up “I…WELL there will still be taxes to pay for it afterwards of course.”
“And if they are too much to bare, we at Jacobson and SJOEJEOME will be happy to find a buyer for it, it is a rather quaint but serviceable office space.”
“And perfectly attuned to the local leylines, so any number of mystical beings can come and go to it, a hot property even I’d have my 17 eyes we weren’t handing it over to you good sir”.
I…take a mental beat. Property can be bought. I have property. If I sell property, I get…MONEY.
“…WELL gentleman, I think we should all make a toast to my dear friend Thad, probably should’ve stuck to alcohol of lower proofs, but DAMN if he wasn’t generous!”
“WONDERFUL, just sign here”.
“If we’re toasting let me get some Goblin spirits, THOSE guys know how to toast!”
After having too many drinks with the lawyers, I saunter over to MY new property, open the door, look at my kingdom…and pass out immediately. I awaken to a sound…a SHRILL, and demanding sound….oh no.
“HEY. MAKE ME COFFEE!”
OF course, Thad was a mystical PI, he’d have a mystical building, and like many magical buildings they have a kobold. For those regulars reading this somehow, you may think of the term “House elf”, a being who will do all your laundry and chores for you no questions asked. This is a shameless corruption of the actual myth, the humble kobold is a type of spirit either attracted to or created by a dwelling, that CAN do household tasks for you…for a PRICE.
“GUNTROB. WANTS. COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOFFEE”.
“Uuuuuuuuuuuurgh, geeze, gimme a tick will ya? Was too busy celebrating.”
“NO EXCUSES. MAKE COFFEE OR GUNTROB WON’T UNLOCK FILES!”
Aw crap, I should’ve realized he probably has unsolved cases, just my friggin’ luck. I just want to flip a damn office, now I gotta find a schmuck to pawn cases over to.
“ARRIGHT, where are the beans?”
Not finding a coffee grinder, I go full cowboy on them beans and boilem, after which I fill myself and Gunts a cup.
“This coffee is DARK, and tastes of MUD…GUNTROB approves, THE PACT IS MADE!”
In a puff of smoke he disappears, and in an impressive display of magic, puts everything in the office in order, dusts off what is now MY desk, and from the ether, a small key appears.
“…WELL the guy can reward a good cup of coffee that’s for sure, I almost regret selling the place…almost”. I take the key, and go to the back of the office, and unlock the first cabinet. Now for you sneaky regulars who’re reading my enchanted memoirs somehow, it may surprise you that the life of a mystical PI ain’t that much different than the life of a regular one. It ain’t all car chases and kidnappings, bulk of it is spying on business rivals and affairs, the usual…but in the case file I notice something strange. An investigation of a child at a boarding school, no parents or nothin’.
“Well now…what’s your story Timmy Enigma?”